Life in the eyes of a coffee table
by icey.summer02
Summary: The coffee table sees all. An chronological account of events in 221B Baker Street during on day from the coffee table's point of view. All he wanted was some peace and quiet. Was that too much to ask? *Not set during any specific episode* Small amount of JohnLock in later chapters.
1. Chapter 1

**_Disclaimer:_ _I don't own sherlock, all rights go to their respective owners. :)_**

* * *

_**Life in the eyes of a coffee table**_

_6.00 am_

There is a clattering upstairs. The short one will be getting up. He sleeps. Or at least I presume he does, there is no creaking and constant noise coming from his part of the upstairs. Not like the clever one. He is always awake. Pacing constantly. I can hear the foot steps many all at once. He does it when he is in though. But then sometimes he is also still. It doesn't last. All unearthly times in the night. Pace pace. Creak creak. And then, come morning, the house is a cocoon of noise. They don't realise just how much noise they make. Loud noisy men. Always rushing about, in and out, in and out. Tick tick. Beep beep. Somewhere a phone is ringing. The laptop, they left it on last night, is humming. Noise.

_6.23 am_

The short one has come down. The clever one hasn't emerged yet. John, the short one, has put the kettle on to make tea. Yet more noise to add to the already thriving hive. Tea leaves stains. It Creates rings, so many rings. They really should put the cups on something. There is enough stuff lying around to put it on. Ah, I remember now. The tall one with the unusual name got cross when John put his cup on some important paper the other day. That'll be why he doesn't do it anymore.

_6.28 am_

The Sherlock one has also appeared. He asks John if he slept well. John says "No, not really" Gray eyes smiles and says "No. Me neither." He smiles again. I wonder if he made a joke. If he did I don't understand it. He asks John if the tea is fresh and then answers his own question. John ignores him. Sherlock puts the kettle on. Again. More noise.

_6.31 am_

John finished his tea and went upstairs. Sherlock is on the laptop. Beep Click Buzz Whir Hum.

_6.36 am_

Sherlock goes upstairs. He forgot about the tea. And he left the laptop on.

_6,37 am_

The phone on the table buzzes, plays a little tune and lights up. Sherlock tells John to come and get it. John says he doesn't have any clothes on. Sherlock says he doesn't care and to do it anyway. John sighs.

_6.38 am _

The phone is still here.

_6.39 am_

Not gone yet. I wonder if John is sulking

_6.40 am_

John picks up the phone. He is dressed.

_6.49 am _

Sherlock tells John to get the laptop. John says he is in the shower.

_6.53 am_

Sherlock says he is thirsty, can John get him a drink. John says he is still in the shower.

_6.57 am_

Sherlock gets the laptop and puts the kettle on then goes back upstairs. He is not dressed.

_7.00 am_

The kettle finishes boiling. Sherlock is still upstairs.

_7.02 am_

Nothing.

_7.03 am_

The shower is turned off.

_7.05 am_

I wonder what they will do today? Sometimes they go out and don't come back until late. Then they are tired and go strait to bed. Although Sherlock doesn't sleep. It is quite. Other times they stay at home all day. John sometimes goes out. Sometimes he doesn't. If this happens then it will be a long day.

* * *

**This was a mussing that went on in my head sometime last night and wouldn't go away until I wrote it. There will be more (hopefully)**

**Also, factually I have only seen the first series and first ep. of the second series of sherlock... please let me know if I get any major stuff wrong ;)**

**Reviews are really really nice... ! :) x**


	2. Chapter 2

_**Chapter 2**_

* * *

11.00 am

It's usually at this point or before that they go out. Give it ten more minuets and then presume they are staying. That's the general policy. At least unless the phone rings. That, believe it or not, is a noise I am praying for.

Can you get earplugs for tables? I doubt it. Shame.

The men have been up and down all morning. Kettle on, Kettle off, the tea rarely actually drunk. The laptop quietly humming to it's self in the corner. John is at odds and ends, pottering, not really tidying, not really reading. TV on, channel hopping and then off again. He kept himself occupied by cooking but then the biscuits went in the oven and he went back to wandering aimlessly about the house.

And because Sherlock always seems to display a magnified version of John's emotions if John is bad, which he is at the moment, Sherlock is insufferable. I cannot describe in words what he is like when he is bored. Insufferable doesn't even begin to describe it. He has sulked on the chair. The he got up, paced and bashed things about for a bit, before crashing back into a different chair, sending it juddering backward several inches. He doesn't speak, instead pained noises, almost moans escape his lips like a wild animal and his arms flail as if he were stopping them from tearing at his hear in desperation for want of something to do. At some point John has confiscated the gun and said something about Mrs Hudson, holes and walls. I am thankful.

2.23 am

This day is creeping. I swear the hands on the clock are taking an hour to turn a minute,

Sherlock asks John if he will go to work. John looks puzzled. Sherlock sighs and flops over in the chair so he faces the wall. John's eyebrows furrow angrily at Sherlock's reaction. Then they soften and he too sighs and goes leave the room.

"The surgery. Don't you have to go to the surgery?" The words are uttered from Sherlock's almost closed lips almost inaudibly just as John is leaving.

"It's a Sunday." Says John then follows it by walking back upstairs. Although his words, on the surface are devoid of any emotion there is an undertone to them and the way they come out gives the impression that his Jaw is still clenched and he is trying to keep from spitting them, struggling to keep his emotions in check. But there is also a hint of something else, sadness. It has a common place these days when Sherlock treats him like any other person. Like Anderson. I may be just a coffee table but I notice things.

* * *

**Thank you for reading xx Reviews make the world go around... ? Please? x**


	3. Chapter 3

**_Chapter 3_**

_2.37 am_

Sherlock suddenly gets up and almost stalks upstairs.

_2.37 and a half._

There is a knock on the door upstairs. Muted voices. Sherlock asks if he can come in. John says he already is. Silence.

"John?" Sherlock questions, confused. No reply. "John?" He is slightly more forceful this time. Still no reply. "John? Did I do something wrong?" A pause.

"No. Well, not intentionally. Well yes. Yes you did." John's voice has changed from resigned to angry in just a few words. He is almost bitter.

"I-" Sherlock begins but gets no further

"It should be easier every time. I shouldn't feel hurt by it every time but I do. And every time I wish I didn't."

"But John I don't-"

No. Stop. Just stop. And listen to me for once in a while. Because that's another thing. You never listen. No never stop and wait and you never listen. Just because you are clever and can solve a crime that would take the police months in a few seconds with little too no traces or evidence it doesn't mean the rest of the world can. And because they can't you treat us like idiots. You brush us aside when we want to help and when we can't you treat us like dirt. Even me. The man that you constantly swear by 'that you can't do your job without'. But that's it. All I am is a glorified PA. A stupid glorified PA. A stupid Glorified PA that can't keep up and doesn't really understand. Well I'm sorry Sherlock that we can't all have a super computer for a mind like you, that the rest of us have to make do with a 'pathetic tiny little mind'" – at this point John does an school girl impressions of Sherlock. – " There is a saying Sherlock, that patience is a virtue, often found in Women never found in men. Well clearly the word doesn't even exist in the dictionary of genius consulting detectives. Or did you simply delete it from your hard drive to stop it wasting space?!" There is a pause.2 Silence except from the gentle hum of the laptop and the ticking of the clock. Somewhere a siren is going off. But upstairs it is silent for a moment. John takes an audible breath that sounds more like a sign. When he speaks again it is quite and resigned. Exhausted.

"It hurts Sherlock. The rejection, after all this time it still hurts. I would say like a bullet wound but that's a different sort of hurt. That hurt is on the outside, and it can be healed. This wound is deep inside me, an every time I think it might just be closing over, beginning to heal, you come along and rip it open again. Wider than ever. Injuring me with your expectations and impatience and anger at my apparent stupidity. And it's not just a hurt though, it's an ache of upset, anger and betrayal."

"John, - I never thought… I didn't realise"

"No. Because to understand you would have had to experience. And emotions are just a weak flaw of character that makes a person vulnerable to you. You never truly feel anything so how could you possibly understand what you do to people?" John's voice is full of pure venom and bitterness, although if you listened carefully you would have noticed the almost disguised half break of John's voice on the last few words, how he quickly replaced me with people, how he wanted to say me, how utterly desolate and helpless he would have been were he not trying desperately hard to be angry. How, despite his harsh words he loved Sherlock more than anything on the earth and never wanted to hurt him. I may just be a coffee table but I notice things.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4. - Upload error fixed!**

5.14

There was no slamming of doors, no storming. Having poured his feelings out John simply walked very quietly and calmly down the stairs and out the front door having only stopped to pick up his phone, keys and coat.

Sherlock stayed upstairs for some time after John left. I didn't hear any foot steps and judging by where there argument had been I would say he was in John's room. Probably sat on his bed. For once the house was quite aside from the normal machine noise.

When Sherlock did come downstairs he look tired, exhausted and resigned. He walked with the manner of a troubled man, like someone who has just told judgement day will come sooner for him than others and it is his fault and there is nothing he can do about it. He was very quite. His breathing the only sound that came from him, quite the opposite to earlier this morning.

At one point he removed the skull from it's shelf and turned it round a few times in his hand aimlessly before sitting, with it perched on his knee (he was sitting normally for once), and staring dully at it. The, after a couple of minutes, he got up and returned it to it's shelf, his eyes filled with renewed despair. That was a couple of hours ago. Since then he has made a cup of tea, although he cradled it in his hands without actually drinking it until it went cold and the poured it down the sink. He tried to start an experiment that involved boiling the 7 sets of tonsils he has had since last Monday (he keeps them in the bread bin-apparently they need to be kept in a cool dark place but the fridge had an acid that they would react badly with in it…) with various leaves in the kettle. But the kettle exploded and now the flat smells of dismembered tonsils. (Yuck!). Since then he has gone back to pacing aimlessly around the flat. He hasn't said anything, not even his usual mutterings. Sometimes a pained expression crosses his face and he squeezes his eyes shut as if something is cutting him. He think he may be trying not to cry, but what do I know, I'm just a coffee table.

Something is bleeping quietly. It is Sherlock's phone. He is texting.

_John, come home. S._

Sent. He resumes his pacing. Almost straight away there is a response.

_Why? So you can hurt me again? J._

He texts back quickly with a look of hatred on his face. But it is hatred toward himself I think.

_Please? I will try to be more considerate.. You ARE important and most definitely not second best or stupid. You are the nicest man I have ever met. You are my only friend and I won't just take you for granted anymore. S._

The response is slightly slower this time.

_This isn't the first time we've had this argument Sherlock. And you always say the same thing. And then you always just do it again. You always forget. _

Sherlock looks surprised at the response for a split second, then surprise turns quickly to upset and from upset to something stronger.

_Please John. I'm sorry. S. x_

And Sherlock Holmes never apologises.

And then, when the text is sent Sherlock sinks into a chair and this time he does cry. He lets the tears fall, one by one, silently forming two single lines along his cheeks to his chin. Two tracks but traced several times over. Staring stonily ahead looking at nothing in particular he weeps silently for his lost solder, lost in the battlefield of love.

7.57 pm

John still isn't home. Sherlock has just gone upstairs and there was the running of water. It has stopped now and for once the flat in still. It has an ere feel to the stillness, a feel similar to the once of death. Maybe I had got so used to the noise that I don't recognise the quite anymore. But, with all their noise and imperfections I don't mind it so much really because there is life and the noises are, mostly, not bad noises, just noises of people, moving around and going about their businesses. Now it is silent and foreboding, the thick silence of words that were not said and of words that were said still hanging in it, ringing, and the silence of the uncertainty of what is to come.

Sherlock sat and stared. He let the tears flow until they dried out and it was just salty tracks lining his face. The he curled himself into a ball and watched the dust moats float. Or maybe he didn't. Maybe he was waiting and thinking, thinking of john most likely. Worrying. About John, about his safety but also about him and John. What would happen next? But maybe he wasn't, after all, what would I know, I'm just a coffee table.

10.02 pm

The door opens. John comes in. He is quite and wary. He flicks the lights on and hangs his coat up. His eyes sweep around the room. He goes to make a cup of tea when he notices the lack of kettle. He is too tired, mentally and physically, to be angry now. He will address that issue in the morning, I presume, given his body language. 3

He removes his shoes and trudges up the stairs. I hear him pause outside Sherlock's room4 then continue to his. He moves around a bit and spends a short while in the bathroom. Then he goes back into his and climbs into bed. The movement stops apart from the small creaking of the bed as he gets comfortable.

11.58 pm

There is a creak and the sound of footsteps. John has got out of bed and is walking down the corridor, tip-toeing down the corridor even. He pauses at Sherlock's door again and then goes in. There is a creek of springs as he climbs into Sherlock's bed and then a further creak as someone, presumably Sherlock, turns over. There is an odd noise5 and then Sherlock murmurs "'m sorry John."

"I know" John replies and there is so much love in their voices that it certifies their words completely.

And then there is silence again. And this time it is the comfortable contented quite not the harsh cold scary silence of before. Even the laptop has stopped humming and the cars outside have lulled. There is no kettle to disturb and no phone ringing, violin playing or gun shooting. It is the sound of carm, however temporary it may be. But now I will use it to my advantage and rest, as well as a coffee table can.

**_A/N. _**_Gosh, it must be so very boring being a table mustn't it. You don't have the same insight into character minds that authors do. And the table can't see upstairs aside from guessing from the noises. Therefore, I must clarify a few things; _

_1) I will leave this up to you. You may choice to be innocent and naïve like the table. Or dirty minded and slightly sick like me ;)_

_2) At some point Sherlock has moved very quietly and is now sitting next to John on John's bed facing him with a slightly stunned 'rabbit in the headlights' expression , his mouth may be slightly open._

_3) Infact he will pointedly ignore it, not wanting to argue again, until later in the day when Mrs Hudson mentions it. Sherlock will be sorry and go out, with Mrs Hudson's help, to buy a new kettle. _

_4) John has forgiven Sherlock mostly bye now and the fact that Sherlock is curled up in a foetal position hugging himself on top of the covers makes John's heart surge and, unexpectedly, leap into his throat._

_5) Sherlock was snuggling up to john and John wrapped his arms possessively around him. - 'Nuf said._


End file.
